


Cold Stones & Soft Silks

by Elysianwonder8



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 18:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysianwonder8/pseuds/Elysianwonder8
Summary: Going back to Episode 3, season 8. I'm just posting it here from Tumblr because why not?-~~~~~~~~~~-Looking up at the sky again, Jon Snow wondered if his ancestors once looked up and asked questions to the gods. Somehow, he doubt it, the First Man prayed in front of the weirwood tree and never questioned their judgement. The dragonlords of Old Valyria even less, with beasts as big as dragons, were they not gods themselves?





	Cold Stones & Soft Silks

**Author's Note:**

> Word of warning, it's been months since I have written anything and even then it was original works. But seeing the Jonerys fandom is grieving, I have decided to return to fan fiction to both gain motivation and give back to the community. 
> 
> Enjoy!

'It was a strange thing how the gods themselves seemed to be mourning', Jon mused to himself as he watched the grey cloud cry over the courtyard. Of course, it was a fool's thought that allowed such thing to cross his mind. 

The gods didn't mourn for those who were lost. They probably hadn't even noticed the amount of souls entering their realms. Brave men who gripped their weapons until the end, kind women who smiled one last time always, even the laughing children would not gain their attention. They were gods and far away up in the clouds, away from pain and sickness, mighty and oblivious to the pain down below.

They had burnt almost a mountain worth of bodies, some who died long ago, others who gave their lives to see the dawn come alive. The grey smoke which had risen from them had made its way to the bright sky, and perhaps it wasn't the gods that were mourning. Perhaps, the smoke had trapped the souls and they were crying from above.

A soft whine came from his side, Ghost's wet nose touching the scar on his palm from where he had first burnt a wight more than centuries ago. Gods old and new, it had been so long ago, almost another life. 

No, no, it had been another life. The ragged scars that haunted his chest were proof enough. 

"What is it, boy?" Ghost nudged his palm again, whining softly against him before turning his head towards the rain. 

"You don't like it either, do you?" Jon gave a small chuckle at Ghost's low pants, somehow the sound was enough to block the sound of heavy rain drops and the groaning of wounded soldiers. "It's okay, it can't last much."

The white wolf gave another whine, shaking his head when a breeze pushed the water to them. He turned towards Jon and shook his head again, the dried blood and soot giving away it's hold on the white fur when the water touched it. The simplicity of it was enough to drive Jon to another smile, the action bringing fond memories deep within his mind. When he was a small pup, Ghost would shake his head just like that to get rid of Glenn's hand, he would yelp and try to growl but the sworn brother of the Night's Watch would just laugh. 

But the past was the past, and Glenn was gone. Edd also. Seven hells, the Night's Watch was gone and so was the Lord Crow that would brood over it.

Looking up at the sky again, Jon Snow wondered if his ancestors once looked up and asked questions to the gods. Somehow, he doubt it, the First Man prayed in front of the weirwood tree and never questioned their judgement. The dragonlords of Old Valyria even less, with beasts as big as dragons, were they not gods themselves?

"Come along." Jon mumbled softly as he finally shifted to leave, his fingers scratching the spot behind the wolf's ear to gain his attention. "Nothing good came from watching blood be washed away from stones."   
The wolf gave his version of a snort, raising from where he sat and leading the way into Winterfell's halls. It had been here where his father stood to watch him and his siblings play, no, no, it had been here where his uncle Ned had stood and watched his children. It had been through these halls where he had ran as a young boy and where his mother, the She-Wolf, the Lady Lyanna, had chased her siblings no doubt.   
It had been here where Ramsay Bolton had tortured, where Theon Greyjoy had burnt, and it had been here where the Night King had fallen at the hands of Arya Stark. Winterfell had survived it all, and yet there was more to endure in the horizon.

The stones on the walls were cold and unforgiving, they were home and yet, they were nothing short of a stranger. He may have been raised a Stark, may have been birthed by a Stark, but he was no Stark and the cold stones served as a reminder. Jon Snow, Jon Snow, that was the name his ghosts whispered, but softly, there in the background, Lyanna Stark shook her head and proclaimed him something else. Aegon. 

Like his ancestors and his older brother that had fallen a babe. 

Aegon, the Sixth of His Name. The 7th to wear the name, he reminded himself. 

Aegon, son of Rhaegar. No, no, the son of Lyanna, Princess of Dragonstone. 

Aegon, Aegon, Aegon. The name sounded strange and foreign, like a shinning prince who could wipe away all the horrors in the world. 

But Jon Snow was no Aegon, he was no prince who could save his Lady, who had screamed and sobbed over the broken body of Jorah Mormont. She had been born on a storm, a furious one which would make the one outside pale in comparison. Stormborn, Rhaella Targaryen must have whispered, Daenerys Stormborn whose screams of pain were enough to break anyone who heard her. 

She had sobbed into Missandei's arms when the woman had hugged her, she had screamed when Grey Worm had taken the old bear away. Lovely amethysts eyes, broken and glassy as she stared at him from the courtyard.

He had almost gone to her at first, yet his nerve shook when he came to her door and he couldn't seem to knock on her door. She was in pain, this he knew, but wishing away pain was never something he had to do, a moment of peace to simply grieve was something he never had.

Ghost kept walking through the halls silently, his paws seemingly never touching the stone. His silence, once a blessing through a hunt, was a pain now that the far away sounds of sorrow filled the keep. The wolf paused in front of a door, butting his head against the dark wood before pressing his paw as well.  
"Ghost, no-" 

Too late, the door had been opened and the white wolf had trotted his way inside by the time Daenerys looked at him.

Jon wondered for a brief moment if she was truly real, the thought so similar to the ones he had during their voyage to White Harbour. The warm fire from the hearth embraced her pale skin softly, the tangles of silver-gold free and a beautiful mess in his eyes. She didn't speak at first, giving him time to gather his thoughts and make the first move she was too tired to make. 

"Ghost." Was all he said at first, voice cracking when she tilted her head slightly at his words. "He's..."

"He likes to sleep by the fire, keeps him warm." Her voice was hoarse, hours of crying had no doubt hurt her as it now hurt him. "I don't mind." 

He stayed silent after that, looking at her fully when the conversation fell short. Her love for silk dresses was something he adored, the thin fabric always so smooth and a comfort to caress. But he couldn't touch her now, not now or he might break down. "Dany, I-"

"You have always been horrible with words, Jon Snow." Her voice became stronger the longer she spoke. "Don't."

The Queen mask she wore was back on her expression, as if it could somehow hide the puffy red cheeks and trembling lips. Yet, she kept it on even when he reached out and touched her cheek gently. Gods, he loved her even now and even with her hatred, no matter what the love he had would never abandon his heart and head. He could shout it from the keep's roof, from the top of the Red Keep, from Rhaegal's great green back. He loved her, he loved her, his queen from this day to the rest of the days. 

"I'm sorry." He said instead, swallowing declarations of love deep down. She didn't need soft affections or deep words, she needed the truth, the truth before the lies could swallow her. "I'm so sorry, Dany." 

For Viserion, for Jorah, for the lost Dothraki and the silent Unsullied, for not embracing her, for letting her think even for a second he had nothing but love for her. Her expression shifted immediately, lips trembling again as he took her into his chest. She didn't sob or cry, just melt into him like so long ago behind the waterfalls. 

"I know there's nothing I can do to take away your pain, my love. But let me at least try." He said against her temple, such words bringing the first tears from her lovely eyes. "All will be well, all will be well, my darling."

The words tasted strange to him, soft and strange like the tears on his cheek. She had fallen to the cold stones, and him with her, the red silk dress pooling around them like the blood spilled on this keep. She cried for her knight on his arms for the rest of the night, and he had cried all the tears he pushed away into her hair.


End file.
